Walking into the station’s kitchen a step ahead of me, my partner cocks his head. “Do you hear this shit?”

I hear a whole bunch of shit. His voice, first of all. Then there’s the jingle of keys hanging from Lieutenant McCarey’s belt and the clink of his spoon as he stirs his coffee. Somewhere behind me is faint ring of a phone from one of the desks in the patrol room.

Loudest of all is the grinding of my teeth. My thigh’s screaming like every single stitch tore open on the short walk up the stairs from the locker room. But there’s no blood seeping through my black pants, so the stitches didn’t actually rip. It just feels like they did.

“They’re piping in ‘Jingle Bells,’” Huertas continues as I suck up the pain and try not to hobble my way to the water cooler. “We’ve still got clowns in holding who are sleeping off their Halloween benders—literal frickin’ clowns—and they’ve got Christmas music playing?”

Frickin’ isn’t what he usually says, but the lieutenant’s here so he’s dialing back the fucks. Except McCarey’s not paying any more attention to Huertas’s bellyaching than I am. He’s focused on me, instead.

“Most guys who catch a couple of bullets take it easy for a while,” he says. “You sure you want to be coming in already?”

Thanks to the bastard who intended to shoot up the county building, I already sat on my ass at home for two fucking weeks. Just last Friday, a grand jury ruled that I was justified firing my weapon, but I’ve still got a psych exam and physical exam to pass before I’m cleared for full duty. So it’ll be another few months before I’m allowed to do more than sit on my ass at the station, but at least I’ll be working. “Desk duty is taking it easy.”

He eyes my hair, still wet from my shower. “And what do you call hitting the weight room an hour before shift?”

“I call it the bare minimum, sir.” I’ve worked too damn hard getting to this point to sleep in now. The lieutenant knows that eventually I’ll be gunning for his job, but he’s not too worried. I only earned my detective’s shield two years back, so by the time I’ve made lieutenant, he’ll have his captain’s bars or be sitting in the deputy chief’s chair.

And I don’t expect to get that far. I don’t care if I get that far, either. I piss people off too easy and as soon as you rise past lieutenant, it’s all politics. Better to let the higher-ups play nice. I’m happy down in the trenches.

“Just upper body, LT,” Huertas tosses in. “I’ve got my eyes on him. No leg work until it’s cleared by the doc. And you know Cole never uses his head, anyway, so no worries about his recovery there.”

The lieutenant’s gaze flicks to the scabbed-over furrow above my ear, where one of Lowery’s bullets gave me a closer shave than dictated by police regulation. “Just don’t hesitate to take more time if you’re not feeling up to it yet. Even desk duty can hit you harder than you expect, and you’re more likely to set yourself back if you push too hard too fast.”

Desk duty is already a setback. But I just nod and say, “If I start feeling like I can’t hack it, I’ll put in for more leave.”

McCarey’s bullshit detector isn’t broken, so he doesn’t believe a word of that, but we’ve both said what we needed to say. Except apparently he’s got one more thing to tell me. “Chief’s expecting you in his office at start of shift.”

Shit. Nothing good ever comes from a visit to the chief of police’s office. He’s a damn fine cop with a long history in this department, but a big part of his job is making sure relations between the public, the DA’s office, and the police run nice and smooth. So being called in usually means there’s a bump in the road—and nobody wants to be the one who gets steamrolled.

“Probably going to pin a big gold medal on your chest,” is Huertas’s smirking conclusion as I head out, teeth gritted at every step.

It won’t be a medal. Eventually, I’ll probably end up getting a commendation for taking Lowery down before he got off more than a short burst of gunfire, but I already received a handshake from both the mayor and Chief Jackson while I was still in the hospital. More likely Lowery’s lawyer is yanking someone’s chain or trying to discredit me before we even make it to trial, and I’m going to end up on administrative leave again.

Except as soon as I enter the chief’s big corner office, I realize I’ve gotten it wrong. Because Chief Jackson isn’t even at his desk; instead he’s parked over on the east side of the room, where a short leather couch and two club chairs are set up around a coffee table.

No need to introduce the man sitting with him. Caucasian, dark blue eyes, and graying black hair that frames distinguished features. Six-two and a solid two hundred pounds. A suit that likely costs a month’s salary—of my salary. John Bennet is a big name in this small city, descending from one of the founding families or some crap like that. Guys like him are why I’ll never play politics. He’s currently sitting on one of the asses the mayor has to kiss every once in a while, especially come fundraising time. To his credit, Bennet puts his money where his mouth is—but word from City Hall is that he likes to throw his weight around along with his money.

I don’t have to deal with that shit. Usually. Looks like I am now.

“Detective Matthews.” Stars gleaming on the shoulders of his uniform, Jackson stands to perform the introduction. Bennet rises more slowly, cold blue eyes measuring me as he goes. “You know John Bennet?”

“Only by sight.” Because I can play nice, I stick out my hand. “Pleasure.”

“After what you did for the city, I’d say the pleasure’s mine, detective.” His grip is dry and firm and his voice contains the echo of the hallowed halls of some Ivy League school. He’s sure as hell not used to being shorter than anyone else in the room, though—and doesn’t like it much, either. He puffs out his chest a bit and rocks up onto the balls of his feet. Probably he’s thinking about taking out his dick to measure against mine.

Better he doesn’t. He’d lose that contest, too. And I’ve got nothing to prove. All his posturing is just funny. Soon enough, though, it’ll be irritating.

Seriously, who has time for this shit?

“You’re looking well,” Bennet adds, his blue eyes skimming over me, lingering on the stripe alongside my head before roaming down to my leg, as if trying to see where the bullet ripped through the muscle in my upper thigh. I’m standing steady as a rock, giving him nothing. “I hear you’ve been cleared for light duty?”

“That’s right. This shift will be the first one I’ve worked since the incident.” I glance at the chief. “Nothing better than being on the job, sir.”

Jackson’s no fool. He knows I’m more worried about administrative leave than whatever the hell Bennet’s here for. “We’ll get you back out there as soon as we can, detective.”

Bennet heads to the leather couch again. The chief sinks into one of the club chairs. It’s awkward as hell standing now, but I only plan on sitting once today—into the rolling chair in front of my desk—and staying there once I’m down. The stitches in my leg won’t allow for much else.

“A big fellow like you, I imagine a desk’s not your style?” Bennet asks.

I shrug. “There are always calls to make and reports to file. So I get plenty of time at a desk even when I’m on full duty.”

Doing that part of the job is just that—part of the job. I don’t mind it. What chafes is not being able to do anything else.

“I’ll testify to that.” The chief sits back. “I spent most of my time as a detective spinning the dial on my phone, that’s for damn sure. It’s easier to track people down these days, what with everyone carrying their smartphones. The paperwork, though…” He laughs. “Hell, I’m still trying to catch up on that.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, and leave it there. I was called in for a reason. I’m hoping someone gets around to that reason before too damn long.

The chief does. Probably because he’s not one to waste time on small talk, either. “Luckily, detective, Bennet here has a request that might liven up your routine. You know his daughter is an assistant to the county medical examiner?”

It’d be hard not to know. The ME’s office is in the county building that shares a courtyard with this station, and just about every dead body in the city moves through that morgue. And I’d heard that Bennet’s little princess had gotten a job there, though I haven’t met her myself. I don’t give a fuck about some spoiled rich girl whose daddy pulled enough strings to get her a job filing papers or making coffee or whatever. I don’t know what she does over there. But I know a lot of the guys around here suddenly found any reason to head over to the county building to pick up autopsy reports instead of waiting for them to land in their inboxes.

Bennet offers a smile. “It’s more of a favor to ask than a request, Detective Matthews. Given your recent injuries, however, I will understand if you deem it too strenuous.”

Does he think that’ll prod me into accepting whatever he’s angling for? My ego isn’t so delicate that I’ll agree to something without first finding out what the hell it is I’m agreeing to. “I suppose my doctor will have to make that decision, then.”

That smile tightens. “Not physically strenuous. It might lengthen the hours in your day, though. You see, Mia is somewhat…headstrong. And she’s entering into a rather independent phase.”

He pauses as if to give me a chance to respond. But I’ve got nothing to say. If she’s rebelling that might explain the morgue. Maybe she’s going through a goth period, like so many teenagers do. But I still don’t see what the hell this has to do with me.

The chief says, “She’s moving into your apartment building, detective.”

“Yeah?” That surprises me. I still don’t give a flying fuck, but it surprises me. By my standards, I live in a real nice place. Rent’s on the upper end of what I can afford, but I don’t have any family or a girlfriend or many expenses except a beer with Huertas or a pizza now and then. But by Bennet standards, it’s a dump. “Not exactly the kind of place you’d expect her to live?”

Bennet seems grateful that I was the one to say it and saved him the trouble of explaining to the guy who lives in a shithole that his place is a shithole. Hard to ask for a favor when you’re insulting someone. “Not exactly,” he agrees. “My wife and I would prefer her to remain at home, of course, but Mia seems determined to move out, and the harder we argue against it the more stubborn she’s becoming. So”—he spreads his hands, a ruby glinting on his pinky ring—“I was hoping you might agree to keep an eye on her. Not actively watching her…but just to make certain she stays out of trouble.”

He’s got to be fucking kidding. I look to the chief. He’s regarding me impassively, but I already know how he wants me to answer. He knew what Bennet would ask and he still called me in.

I return my gaze to Bennet and have to unclench my jaw before answering. “Just keeping an eye out?”

He nods. “And letting me know if there’s anything I should be concerned about. If she’s getting visitors, people hanging around her who shouldn’t be. It’s well known that she’s my only heir. But even without the Bennet name, a girl with a trust fund the size of Mia’s always draws the wrong kind of attention from conmen looking for an easy payday.”

So he doesn’t want his little girl getting fucked by the wrong men. That’s pretty goddamn creepy. So is a cop watching a girl and reporting to her daddy.

This fucker doesn’t seem to care, though. “You sure my attention’s not the wrong type?”

He laughs and gestures to the chief. “I already spoke with Mike here about your character. He assures me you aren’t a ladies’ man.”

That’s true. I’m too much of an asshole. Any woman smart enough to be interesting is also smart enough to run away after about an hour in my company. I’m not likely to be attracted to some rebellious teenager, anyway. And no woman’s pussy is worth the kind of trouble that banging Bennet’s daughter could bring down on me.

Maybe one woman would be worth it. Except I don’t even know if I dreamed her. When you’re bleeding out on the steps of the county courthouse, it’s hard to trust a vision of an angel hovering above you, gazing down with pale blue eyes and telling you in a throaty voice to hold on, detective, just hold on, and we have to get some pressure on his leg!

But to Bennet, I only say, “I’m focused on the job right now. Not women.”

That seems to satisfy whatever is going on in that slick head. Rising to his feet, he holds out his hand again. Sealing the deal. “I appreciate you doing this favor for me, detective. And if I can ever do anything for you in return…”

He leaves that open. But I don’t ever intend to fill it. Going to a guy like Bennet expecting him to return a favor just puts you in debt to him.

So I shake his hand and say, “Seeing to your daughter’s safety is all part of the job.”

Bennet smiles at that, then looks to the chief. “Say hello to Brenda for me, Mike.”

“I’ll do that,” Chief Jackson says. “Give my best to Patricia.”

With a perfunctory nod, Bennet leaves. And I don’t say a word, not a fucking word, because I’m an asshole but one thing I’ll never do is mouth off to the chief of police.

He sighs and heads to his desk. “If you’re wondering whether you’re under orders to keep an eye on Mia Bennet, that answer is no.”

Thank fuck. “We just let Bennet think it?”

“Works for me.” Jackson drops into his chair, eyes me critically. “You have any issue playing that game, detective?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Truth is, I’ve known Mia almost her entire life—and she’s not going through a phase. This is how she’s always been. She’s just getting better at pushing back.”

“Against him?” His little girl must have some steel in her, then.

“And against her mother, which is really saying something.” He shakes his head. “Mia’s a good girl. Smart, too. Any trouble she gets into, she’s more than capable of getting herself out. Have you met her yet?”

“Don’t think so. Unless it was in passing, and I didn’t notice.”

That seems to amuse him. “You’d notice her. Mia is…memorable.”

“I’ll take your word for it, sir.” There’s only one woman who’s ever stuck in my head longer than a few days. I don’t know who she is—or even if she’s real. But as soon as I’m at a hundred percent again, nothing will stop me from finding her.

But nothing I’ve ever wanted has simply dropped into my lap. I’ve had to fight for it all, had to earn everything I have. So if I want her, whoever she is?

That means it’s time to get back to work.